Page 65 of One Night with a Rake

No, just a man who loves a meddlesome woman.

“Well, someone doesn’t seem pleased about the meddling,” Nathaniel admitted and told Gobberd about the murders of both Vesta and Mr. Bagley. “Who do you think stands to lose if the House of Sirens is closed down?”

“No one really. I expect Sadie O’Toole has already set up a seedy little shop in Whitechapel by now.”

The coffee came then and both men paused to drink.

“One thing to bear in mind,” Gobberd said, “is that the House of Sirens catered to…particular tastes.”

This was news. None of the girls who’d stayed on had been very forthcoming about their former life with Madam Sadie, except to express relief that it had ended. “Such as?”

“Multiple women at once. Flagellation. Boys, on occasion. Don’t know where she got ’em, the poor little blighters. Even…” Gobberd’s gaze flitted around the room, then settled back on Nate. “Well, I’d best not say, but you should know that rumor has it that it wasn’t unusual for whores to come up missing there.”

“Missing,” he repeated. “Did they run away?”

Gobberd shook his head. “Not likely. For the girls who landed at the House of Sirens, there was no place else to go that wouldn’t be worse.”

Was he hinting at more murders in the area that had gone unreported? “And nothing’s been done?”

“What’s to do? They’re just whores.” Gobberd shrugged. “Not that I know anything firsthand, you understand, but one hears rumors. It was another reason I was keen to unload the place. I keep a round little mistress in Cheapside, myself. She may not be the prettiest bint, but at least she’s reasonably clean. Limber, too. Do you know she can take her foot and put it—”

“Back to the subject at hand, if you please.” The last thing Nate wanted to hear about was Lord Gobberd’s odd exploits in the bedroom. “If the House of Sirens was a blight on a neighborhood that has pretty dim prospects to begin with, why would two murders come so quickly on the heels of it shutting down?”

“Men want what they want.” Gobberd spread his fleshy hands before him to accentuate his point. “But if Sadie’s is closed down, some of her clients with…unusual tastes might not be able to satisfy them in the usual way. Habits can be the very devil to break. And bad habits even worse.”

Nate’s gaze swept over the assembled gentlemen in the coffeehouse. Almost to a man, they were games-mad. If cards or dice weren’t available, they’d make up their own way to satisfy the urge to wager. They’d bet which raindrop would make it to the bottom of a windowpane first. They’d lay odds on whether a stray cat would head up or down the street. Anything to appease the need for that heady rush winning brings.

What would someone with even darker needs do if the place where they could be easily met was no longer available?

***

With every evidence of politeness, Georgette proffered her calling card to Mr. Duggins and asked that he deliver it to his mistress. Of course, the fresh loaf of quince bread she’d brought as a peace offering to the bully might have helped as well. And Reuben’s stalwart presence at her left shoulder undoubtedly improved the cordiality of her welcome.

The common room was cleaner than it had been last time Georgette was there. A girl with a pink ribbon holding back her long curls was playing a passable Mozart sonata on the upright pianoforte in the corner. The instrument was woefully out of tune, but the melody was still recognizable. A couple other girls, in various levels of dishabille but by no means indecently dressed for at-home wear, lounged on the red velvet couches.

Georgette was ushered into the madam’s private parlor on the second floor almost immediately. Gone was the blowsy harridan she remembered from their first encounter. Now the owner of the House of Pleasure was dressed in a dark tweed morning dress that was only a tad threadbare. Madam Bouchard poured tea from a silver service into a set of china cups that would have done credit to a Mayfair matron, but for a few chips here and there.

“I hope you’ll forgive the initial impression I made upon our first acquaintance. My only defense is that I had forgotten myself in the press of competition here on Lackaday Lane. I have remembered me now.”

Georgette blinked in surprise.

“I know your ladyship is not in the habit of calling on folk of my station,” Madam Bouchard said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“May I be frank?”

“Please.”

“I’m surprised by the change in your establishment,” Georgette said. And yourself, she thought but decided it would be impolite to admit.

The madam buried her nose in her teacup for a moment. “Well, for that I must credit you and Lord Nathaniel. You’ve made some real changes in the neighborhood.”

“And you’re not upset by those changes?”

“Heavens, no. Well, I will confess that I was upset about Vesta leaving at first, but if a woman’s heart isn’t in whoring, she’s not going to be much good at it in the long run, is she now?”

“That makes sense.” Georgette had expected to encounter a defensive, evasive woman instead of this polite one. If Madam Bouchard wasn’t angry about Vesta leaving her, she certainly wasn’t likely to have had her killed. “But you are still running a brothel, yes?”

“Oh, yes, but now that Sadie’s is gone, the clientele is much improved. We don’t have to sink to her level in order to compete now, you see.” Madam Bouchard gestured gracefully with her free hand and Georgette realized she must have been a real beauty in her day. “Better gentlemen. Better whores. Makes everyone happier.”